


Ghost in the Glass

by halcyin



Series: one shots & ficlets [6]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Death, Depression, Ghosts, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Violence, but enjoy?, just really honestly sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:44:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5021602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyin/pseuds/halcyin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Someone who sees the reflection of someone who has passed away in mirrors, windows, and other reflective surfaces."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost in the Glass

**Author's Note:**

> was going to write something, and stumbled upon this fanfic! a small drabble i wrote probably at 2am on a school night, but hey, enjoy! it's kinda of overall depressing with mature/dark themes. hopefully all the tags cover all of the triggers in this, but if not, please tell me! i hope you enjoy! thanks for reading! :)

_“Ray?”_ Ryan hisses, stopping in the glass in front of the store that they just had stolen from. Michael, next to him, stammers to a stop, staring at Ryan.

“No, I’m Michael—” he begins, but Ryan’s too enthralled, because there stands Ray in all his glory as a reflection in the glass. His sniper rifle is on his back, beanie covering his hair, and a large smile on his face.

Ryan can feel the tears to begin collecting in his eyes but snaps back to reality from staring into those brown eyes with disbelief when Michael grabs his wrist.

He can’t leave Ray— he fucking _can’t,_ so he fights against Michael, practically screaming to get back to even the bare reflection of his former boyfriend. He needs him, even if it’s Ryan’s mind tricking him since he knows he’s not there, but the reflection moves closer to the glass the further Michael pulls him away, staring at Ryan forlornly before even Ray, too, turns and disappears.

Ryan finds it hard to complete the rest of the heist. He dutifully gets to the penthouse with Michael to find the other’s gathered on the couch, Caleb wrapping bandages around their bodies.

Ryan absolutely knows he’s going insane when he sees Ray in the window again of the sliding glass doors. This time, he can go to him; the heist is long over. Ryan leaves the money on the table, frowning when he walks past the sofa and to the sliding doors where a slightly transparent Ray stands.

He’s wearing his purple hoodie, black shirt underneath, jeans, and those checkered vans that Ryan knows is still in his closet. There’s a new scar on his cheeks and a sad smile on his face. Ray lifts his hand and places it on the glass, in an attempt to feel the contact he’s been _dying_ for a year to have, Ryan meets the hand.

It almost a year, and it’s only that simple action that has Ryan crying. He didn’t cry when they let the body float in the water, he didn’t cry when Geoff locked Ray’s room and gave Ryan the key. He didn’t cry when he saw Gavin trying to pull the body to safety.

Ryan fights to keep the choked wails in, shoulders shaking with the force of them, only harsh breaths come past his lips that has all of the crew staring at the tall, masked man with his hand on the sliding glass door. His fingers are rubbing into the glass like there’s flesh on the other side, while in retrospect, there might as well be.

“Ryan?” He hears Gavin said.

He doesn’t understand why they can’t leave him alone, and it makes him a bit angry. Ryan didn’t want to cry; he’s lived in denial this long that Ray’s gone forever, and he doesn’t understand that why his lover couldn’t leave him alone until he decided to put a gun to his own head and shoot. The idea was tempting, but Ryan thrived on the moments he imagined Ray dancing around him in the kitchen, sitting in the sofa curled in one of his hoodies playing games, or leaning on the balcony, smoking— anything to recreate that he was _definitely_ still here with him.

They only saw him crying once, and it happened to be Jack who stumbled upon him. Ryan had been on the balcony, staring down at the road with an urge to jump and end it all. She had grabbed his hand and pulled him into an embrace, the rest of the crews gathered at the doors while Ryan sobbed into her shoulder.

Ryan lets out a small wail before his knees buckle under him, sending him crouched in front of the sliding glass door. He balls his hand into a fist before he mercilessly bangs the glass for a couple minutes straight until he’s skins raw from the cracked glass. He’s crying violently, and he looks up only to see Ray crouched in front of him, forehead pressed against the glass and his eyes closed like he’s been listening.

If Ray was here, and not a reflection, none of this would of happened. Ryan wails helplessly as he lets his forehead fall against the glass and his hand to his side, tears streaming down his face at the fact he can feel the ghost of Ray’s arms wrapped around his shoulders or his face against his neck. Ryan can’t take it; his throat is on fire with all of the tears he’s held back and the noises. He can’t even see Ray clearly anymore.

The penthouse is quite besides the breathing of his crewmembers and Ryan’s wails. He hates the silence and the racking of sobs. He hates the reflection of his lover in the window and the memories he brings with him. He hates Ray and that he fell in love with him. He hates himself; he could have avoided this all.

Ryan feels a hand on his shoulder, surprised he hadn’t heard the footsteps, but right now he isn’t paying attention. He pulls his legs up to his chest, looking up wearily and through bloodshot eyes.

Geoff stares back at him with dark blue eyes, brimming with guilt and sympathy. A frown only widens on Ryan’s face as Geoff inhales, mouth opening at the notion that he’s going to talk.

Ryan’s lower lip quivers desperately as he can’t make his boss’s gaze anymore, but Geoff doesn’t say anything. He gives Ryan a pat on the back before coaxing him to stand up and move him away from the sliding glass door, assuming that Ryan’s brain is tricking him and recalling the memories of when he found the couple countless times on the balcony, cigarettes in between their fingers.  

Geoff leads him to sit on the couch next to Gavin who pulls Ryan into a desperate hug. It only makes Ryan’s crying worse, the lad’s smaller frame reminding him too much of the other he lost, but he tightens his grip on Gavin and cries into his shoulder.

Michael wakes his boyfriend hours later once Ryan’s asleep on the couch, after had crying himself thoroughly, gripped onto Gavin.

He sees Ray in the water going down the sink, in the stainless steal of the fridge, and in the television before he turns it on. He sees him everywhere, but over the next two months Ryan’s too numb to acknowledge his lover.

He smiles brokenly; it’s small and useless. Ray always frowns back at him, reaching out to Ryan the instant he looks away or turns the tv on. He knows it’s a trick of his mind, but the ache in his heart is quite real. Ray always wears the same clothes, and it’s always the same horrible routine of the other standing in the distance and in the first few seconds, turns to face Ryan with a smile before is disappears into a frown.

It’s Ray’s birthday. They all dread the day. It’s no longer marked on the calendar, like it had been last year. Ryan doesn’t fall asleep the night before, and he regrets it in the morning.

He no longer sees Ray in reflections— he might be there, and Ryan may no longer recognize it. He doesn’t know. Either way, Ryan hates it. He wants to see him again, anything to feel Ray again, to hear his voice, his touch. It’s impossible, and the idea makes Ryan scoff to himself when he sits down at the island.

Michael stands nearby, rummaging through the fridge. He turns at the sound, meeting eyes with Ryan. Michael’s eyes are dull and emotionless. He’s glad for the redhead to not offer any sympathy; Ryan’s eyes are equally drained and clouded.

It’s only when he hears the door to their penthouse open when Ryan finally peels his eyes away.

Ryan’s heart falls to the floor, and he’s overcome with nausea when he sees Ray standing there. The other is no longer transparent, and he looks beat up. Ryan desperately looks to Michael, who’s looking as dumbfounded to see their deceased crewmate.

Ray slams the door behind him, duffle bag tossed to the side carelessly along with his sniper rifle that Ryan knows they locked up in that bedroom. It has the same nicks and the childish etch of Ray’s name in it. He couldn’t have gotten a copy.

Michael is the first of the pair to make a step forward, and Ryan’s overcome with anger at the possibility that Ray’s alive, and all of this has been a ruse, but Michael looks more scared until Ryan.

It’s been a year since Michael says it. “Ray?”

Ray doesn’t answer. Michael repeats his name three times loudly, grabbing the attention of Geoff and Jack who stray into the living room to see why their deceased friend’s name is being said, then finally Gavin after Ray starts walking into the living room.

He continues walking over to the couch, peeling off his hoodie and discarding it carelessly on the floor. Ray pulls his phone out his pocket and flops down onto the sofa.

“Call Ryan.” He says, and it stabs Ryan directly in his heart.

They all look to Ryan. He ignores them. He stands shakily up from the island, wobbling over to the couch. Ray puts the call on speakerphone, putting his feet up on the coffee table and grabs the television remote, immediately turning the channel to Bravo. He grins when he sees that the _Housewives of New York_ is on.

 _“Hello?”_ A voice crackles from the phone, and they’re all baffled. He can hear Geoff cough in disbelief, and Ryan even squeaks to hear his own voice coming from the phone. His own phone, safe in his pocket, never rang.

It doesn’t take much, and for the second time Ryan’s crying. He kneels off to Ray’s side, watching him through a hysterical, broken smile as tears stream down his face. He has no idea what’s happening. He loves having Ray in the flesh in front of him, and can feel the heat radiating off of him, but he’s scared to touch Ray. He doesn’t want him to disappear if Ryan gets too greedy, and he’s happy to see Ray smile at the phone and his amazing voice fill the seemingly empty air of the living room.

“Babe,” Ray says, shifting to get more comfy in the couch, “where are you?”

_“Close. I’ll be home in ten minutes. You can keep yourself busy until then, right?”_

Ryan lets out a choked yell, lunging to pin Ray down on the couch because he knows what’s going to happen. He knows this too well, and the memory of it is forever imprinted in his mind. If only he had been there, if only he hadn’t been a little too late, if only. If only. Nothing happens though, and Ryan completely goes through Ray. He’s useless. He knows what’s going to happen, but he can’t pry his eyes away.

A frown slips onto Ray’s face, he rolls his eyes and he groans as he moved to stand up, bringing the phone with him. “I guess. Just please hurry? I want to cuddle badly.”

The voice from the phone chuckles as well as a snort that has more tears stream down Ryan’s cheeks. “ _I’ll cuddle you so hard when I get there._ ”

“Yeah, you fucking better.” Ray chuckles.

“ _Now, let me drive without getting myself killed—”_ Ryan inhales sharply at his choice of words, finally looking away from the scene to see Jack, Geoff, and Michael watching with undivided attention. They’re starting to get teary-eyed, probably have gotten the memo from the urgency that Ryan had acted upon only seconds earlier.

“ _I love you. I’ll see you in ten, and I’ll give you a kiss to make up for me being gone._ ”

“You promise? Like fucking pinky promise?”

“ _I promise. I swear to God, okay? I love you, Ray._ ”

Ray smiles. He walks over to his coat and their eyes follow him. He pulls out a packet of cigarettes. “I love you too, Rye. Ten minutes.”

The other line finally goes dead. Ray lights the end with a lighter and takes a drag, walking over to the balcony. He pushes the door open, and they all follow, especially Ryan.

Ray stands out there for ten minutes smoking absentmindedly, and Ryan’s hands are cupping the other’s face or uselessly ‘fixing’ his clothes or hair. It makes the tears down Jack’s face more prominent, and she fights back any noises.

They all whip their heads, including Ray when the door slams open and Ryan’s stomach goes straight to the floor for the third time today (the first having been when he woke up and remembered what today was).

Three men in all black stand in the doorway, and before Ray can react, there’s a bullet embedded in Ray’s arm. He holds onto the railing for dear life, hissing and grabbing at the blood seeping through t-shirt. He’s yelling and he doesn’t realize it, tears collecting in Ray’s eyes.

Ryan hates how even moments before his death, Ray suffered. He should have been there; it should have all been prevented. It doesn’t take the men long to grab Ray, and they harshly beat him up till he’s panting and he’s crying desperately for them to stop while the rest of the crew tries to stop them, but it’s uselessly, because despite their attempts they pass through the bodies like water.

They drag Ray out the door, and Ryan follows. They all do, and soon they’re outside in the chilling September sun.

“Where the fuck is Geoff?” One of the men barks at Ray once they get him in the middle of the street, guns pointed at his head.

“I don’t know,” Ray croaks.

One of them kicks Ray in the gut, causing the boy to double over, wheeze in pain, and then cough up some blood onto the pavement. “Don’t lie, _boy_.”

“I don’t know,” Ray snarls this time.

They all know in their minds that Ray knows where Geoff is. They all feel a ball settle in their stomach, and Geoff’s mumbling under his breath and crying now. It was his fault his sniper and boy was dead.

One of the men cocks a gun, pressing it against the back of Ray’s head. He immediately straightens up and goes rigid. Ray’s heart is evidently pounding in his chest, breathing rugged and pained. Ryan can see the bruises begin to kiss his skin.

Another one of them sheaths a knife, and in one motion, buries it into leg to cause Ray to scream out, writhing in pure terror and pain that has Ryan sobbing to himself, reaching out to pull him into a hug to soothe him of all his pain. He passes through him yet again.

“Faggot. What a waste. You could of been great without all of them. And how’s your boyfriend?”

Ray’s eyes darken through the blood on his face and tears cutting clean through the dirt on his cheeks. “Don’t you dare.”

“How long ago did you talk to him? All that time between now and then, Ray, imagine his dead body and you can’t do a damn about it. We’ll tie him up to a chair and get every little bit of breath left, throw his body in the middle of nowhere, and leave him to the vultures.”

Ray closes his eyes, only to reopen them when the man talking abruptly grips his hair and forces them to meet eyes.

“Don’t you ever wonder where he goes?”

“No.”

“He probably goes and fucks someone. He forgets all about you. He leaves to get away from you and replace you with someone better.”

Ray doesn’t hesitate, he moves in a swift motion, kicking the legs out from underneath the guy, and covering from the other two men firing at him. He desperately starts running, barely rounding the corner when the one of the men hits his legs and he tumbles to the ground. He thumbs around for his phone, pulling it out of his pocket. He hears the gunfire in the distance, panting as he used his only working arm to get into the building.

The whole crew floods the area, and there’s so much for Ryan to focus on— Michael, Geoff, and Jack are killing the three men with constant fire, while Gavin’s rushes over and heaving Ray and pulling him into the garage.

He decides to focus on his past self, who’s running towards Ray and falls to his knees in front of the body.

The next thing though, Ryan realizes, is that he’s sitting up. His duvet pools at his hips and he stares down at the cream white off the sheets before his eyes start to blur.

Nothing was ever real.

His mind only enjoyed making everything much more painful than it should of been.

Ryan cries and wails until he sees Ray bursting through the door and crawling into bed with him. He succumbs to his tears at the thought and falls into the sheets, crying under his throat burns, lips are raw, and his brain lacks the will to work. Ray fades easily into his sheets.

Ryan lives a lie for months. He’s emotionless and quiet. He has no purpose in speaking anymore, even on heist unless someone’s life is in jeopardy. After his dream, he sees Ray again.

Ray looks worse and worse with every given month, his eyes dark and lifeless. He always looks like he’s been crying, but he still smiles nonetheless at Ryan.

Ryan finds himself after a heist, staring at reflection of Ray in the mirror. He had fought the impulse to going to Ray’s room, but there was no use. He wasn’t sure why he was living anymore, and with everything from the heist still on him including blood, he shoves the key into the door and slipped in.

His eyes searched the room. It looks exactly how he had left it— games arranged in alphabetical order below the television, 3DS sitting on his nightstand— everything untouched; everything left with a sheen of dust upon it. Ryan steps towards the vanity, clutching onto the white lacquer and brings his blue eyes to meet the reflection he knows will be there.  

This time, Ray looks happier. He looks like he had just woken up; he was wearing one of Ryan’s sweaters and a pair of red boxers that made Ryan tear up from the utter heartbreak. He leans on the vanity, staring into Ray’s eyes as the reflection stood back.

“Ray,” he says softly.

The other’s gaze perks up, encouraging Ryan to go on.

“You know I love you.”

Ray nods and mouths it in return.

“You’re my everything.” Ryan continues.

“You were my everything.” He restates, watching as Ray brings up a hand to press to the reflection, Ryan follows him, meeting their hands together to only feel the coldness of the glass beneath his fingers.

His other hand slips into his pocket and thumbs at the plastic before he leaves it alone after hearing some click.

“I love you.” Ryan says, tears beginning to form in his eyes. “I don’t know you loved me. After you died,” Ryan hysterically chuckles— it’s the first time he actually managed to say it, “I killed so many people. The whole city was running from me, the feeling of their souls falling through my fingers made me forget about you.”

Ray’s eyes are the only thing that holds an expression, and it’s sadness. Ryan thinks it doesn’t look too good on Ray and makes him laugh brokenly.

“It’s okay, though.”

Ryan’s finger tightens around the plastic in his pocket and he pulls out a .35, letting it settle all too comfortably against the side of his head. It feels natural, just like how it is with the gun on the other side, stealing the breath away from countless people. Perhaps it feels even more natural than that.

“I love you, and I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Ray’s eyes are wide and he has both hands pressed to the glass in almost a desperate attempt to get Ryan to stop what he’s doing. Ryan’s crying now, he can see how terrified Ray is, even if it’s not even real.

Ryan strokes the glass in a desperate attempt to feel any flesh, and maybe he’s going crazy, but he swears there’s something quite real enclosing his fingers to get him going through with this. A smile slips onto his features, and he tilts his head as Ray just keeps getting closer to stop him.

Ryan isn’t sure if an afterlife exists, but he wouldn’t mind finding it out if Ray was there with him.

“Goodnight, Ray.”

Ray’s crying hysterically on the other side of the glass. Ryan isn’t anymore.

He lets his finger pull the trigger.

He can imagine the sound echos throughout the penthouse, muffling the sound of his breath leaving his lungs.

 

 


End file.
